


Mission From God, A

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-15
Updated: 2004-01-15
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh. Donna. Matt Skinner & more Blues Brothers references than you can shake your tail feathers at.





	Mission From God, A

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**A Mission From God**

**by:**   


**Category/Pairing:** Josh/Donna  
**Written:** May 24, 2002  
**Rating:** ADULT for language  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never gonna be mine. Anything you recognize from pop culture isn't mine either. If it was, would I still be this deep in debt? Really, if you want my crappy ass job, truck payment and two emotionally disturbed cats you're welcome to them.  
**Summary:** 7th in the Joshua Monologues Series. Josh. Donna. Matt Skinner & more Blues Brothers references than you can shake your tail feathers at. 

* * *

I'm on a mission from God. We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses. 

You're not laughing. It's the cigarette thing, right? 

I am on a mission from God, that much is true. Matt's whining about being almost out of gas, it's noon, and neither of us smoke. 

We are wearing sunglasses. 

We are also listening to the Blues Brothers soundtrack, for reasons I can't begin to fathom. Unless Matt is secretly from Chicago or something.

I have enlisted a Republican congressional representative on my mission for a couple of reasons. One: he's a believable cover. My trusty assistant won't question lunch meetings with a congressman. Two: he will keep absolutely silent about the mission. Three: he has impeccable taste in jewelry.

For the last two months we have power-shopped our way through every store in D.C. and most of the suburbs. I'm starting to think I will never find what I am looking for.

Let me just mention that power-shopping on crutches sucks.

I've been torturing this salesman for the better part of twenty minutes. He keeps showing me rings with huge stones and wide bands I just can't picture on Donna's hand.

Thanking the guy for his time, I turn to go. In that instant it catches my eye, overshadowed by everything around it. It is a slender, platinum band. Sturdy, yet delicate, with a beautiful diamond.

"Matt."

As he heads over, I ask the salesman if I can see it.

"Oh, man." Matt is speechless.

"Yeah."

I grin at him.

The diamond, though small, is flawless.

"Half-carat, marquee cut. There's a matching wedding band set."

I'm captivated by it.

Matt claps his hand on my shoulder. "That's the one. Don't think about it. What does your gut tell you?"

"I'll take it."

Donna's ring finger is a size 6, which happens to be fairly standard, so I can take hers with me. My wedding band needs to be sized.

I nearly choke at the total, but fork over the cash. Checks and credit cards can be traced. I don't need "Inside Edition" picking up on my purchase of an engagement ring.

I promise the guy I'll fill out the paperwork on the diamond when I pick up my ring.

****

Sitting in my office with the door closed, I see my future reflecting back at me in this diamond. I'm sure it's the first of many important purchases I will make in the near future. Donna wants kids. Okay, okay. Donna and I both want kids. Kids mean a house. I want to run for Congress when we're done in the White House. That means a residence in Connecticut and one in D.C.

Six months ago, the thought of a wife and kids, not to mention two mortgages, would have had me running for the hills. Today, I'm sitting in my chair with a stupid grin on my face. 

I hide the ring in my backpack and open the door.

"DONNA!"

She straggles the twenty feet from her desk to my door.

"You bellowed?"

"What time is it?"

"It's 7 p.m., Josh. Your watch sucks."

She's whiny. It's been a long week.

"Get your stuff. Let's go."

She presses her hand to my forehead.

"You feel okay?"

"I feel fine, Donnatella. Come on. Our reservations are for 7:30."

"You made reservations by yourself?"

Her disbelief wounds me. I mean, I managed to set up our Valentine's Day Do-Over date last month with no problems.

I made reservations at a swank little place Matt recommended for its' discretion and its' cheesecake. For reasons I don't pretend to understand, cheesecake gets Donna all hot and bothered.

You may ask yourself: "what about the ring?" Tonight isn't about me proposing, although I might, if it feels right. Tonight is really about getting down by the fire and making sweet love to Donna. 

We have a nice, quiet dinner and when the waiter recommends the cheesecake, Donna's eyes light up. 

We go back to my place after dinner. I barely have the door closed behind me when Donna captures me with a kiss that goes all the way to my toes.

She tastes like cherry cheesecake.

Her hands run through my hair and she rips my tie off.

"Slow down." I pant, breaking the kiss.

She's pouting at me, so I point a crutch, indicating my bedroom.

I follow her in, ditching the crutches along the way. I've brought hopping to an new art form.

Pulling her back to me, I slip the zipper on her skirt and it slides down her hips revealing black stockings and garters. No panties, not even a thong.

"You little minx."

She smiles back at me demurely as I unbutton her blouse. The bra goes next, but I leave the stockings and garters. I love garters, just call me Crash.

While Donna kicks her high heels off, I strip to my boxers and lean across the bed to my nightstand.

"Lie down," I gesture to the bed. "On your stomach."

I get a look, but she does as I ask. CJ got me some kind of girly massage oil as an "it's about damn time" gift and I have yet to use it. While she settles into a comfortable position, I shed my boxers. 

Donna gasps as I dribble some of the oil on her back. Carefully straddling her hips, I begin to rub it into her smooth skin.

Back rubs. They turn her on more than cheesecake. Once I learned that, I did some research of my own. I could be a massage therapist with all the books I now own.

"Josh."

"Hmm?"

"This is good."

My response is to lavish her body with attention, breathing a streak of coolness up her spine, following it with gentle pressure from my thumbs. I have never heard a woman moan quite like this. Donna usually talks during sex, which is fine. It helps me know what she likes and what she doesn't care for.

I have reduced her to moaning. 

Who da man?

It's not long before she's breathing much heavier, I can tell she's on the cusp of a fantastic orgasm, time to pull back just a bit. I roll her over and settle myself between her thighs, trailing my fingertips up her legs, reveling in the feel of her stockings against my skin and gazing at her beauty.

"Josh." This comes out as a whine.

"What? I'm looking."

She laughs, "All right, Spongebob. Get a move on."

I lift my head enough to make eye contact with her and give her a smirk. Then I lower my attention to the 8,000 nerve fibers designed solely to give her pleasure. I take my time reacquainting myself with her folds and contours. I reach a hand up to touch her breasts. Her nipples are hardened and tight. My tongue on her clit and fingers on her nipples find a perfect rhythm.

I love foreplay. The more times I can make Donna come, the happier I am. 

Her hips buck around me and I taste her saltiness. I eagerly lap at the wetness I've caused and then begin kissing and nipping my way up the expanse of skin before me. Her hands stroke my hair and linger at the spot behind my ear that reduces me to jelly. If she doesn't stop that...

I suckle one breast first and lavish leftover massage oil on the other. When I switch, I discover that the oil tastes slightly like cinnamon and is hot on my tongue. 

I lift up to share the taste with Donna. Her fingers are running up and down the sensitive skin on my sides, she's running her stocking-encased legs up and down my inner thighs. While I'm kissing my way around her neck, she is running her stockings up and down my cock. She's gonna have to stop that or tonight is going to be over long before it should be. 

She doesn't seem inclined to stop and I feel her smirk when I mention my concerns. Well, two can play at that game, so I head back down to her Squarepants. Lifting her legs over my shoulder I explore the hypersensitive flesh of her inner thighs. I leave a hickey in a place nobody but me and maybe Donna will ever see it.

That accomplished, I go off in search of her g-spot. She grabs my free hand and pulls me up into a kiss as my fingers enter her and tilt up slightly, searching, stroking. 

"Ahh."

There it is. 

The first orgasm had nothing on what I just did there. 

I'm going to have scratch marks on my back.

I fondle the lips of her vagina and coax her back to me. Donna's kisses are becoming hungrier and more demanding, her tongue insistent in my mouth.

"Josh." 

Just my name, but I know. I roll over on my back and pull her on top of me. She takes me in her hand and her folds tease my tip. She's warm and wet from two orgasms and as she lowers herself onto me, it's my turn to moan. Her movements are slow, teasing and tantalizing. Stockings rub against my hips as she lifts up and eases down. I reach up and around, matching her movements with my hands on her back, my fingernails trailing up and down. 

Donna picks up speed and I run my hands across the skin of her breasts, cupping them and then moving down her firm stomach to where our bodies meet. I know I won't last much longer and I want her to come with me. I seek out her clit as our bodies crash together, the feel of her orgasm starts my own and I pull her down to surge deeper into her for my release. Our moans intermingle as she grinds her hips into mine, milking every last bit of her orgasm.

She likes to have me inside her as long as possible, so despite the incredible sex, I remain half-aroused simply because she surrounds me. Donna presses her body to mine in post-coital bliss, fingers tracing my surgical scar while mine explore her ears and wind their way to the garters. Time for those stockings to go.

To her disappointment, I pull out of her warmth and turn on the bed so my head is by her feet. I begin to massage the tension from her legs, working the stress of the week down her body to her toes. By the time I finish, Donna's asleep.

I pull the comforter up before I go to the bathroom. I return and snuggle in next to the love of my life, wrapping my arms around her and tucking my head into the crook of her neck, breathing her scent in and whispering my love as I, too, sleep.

Next: "Bipartisan Misdirection."

"You're telling me this is going to be a thing?"


End file.
